The Final Mistake
by Conraat
Summary: It's World War III, and even when face-to-face with defeat, surrender is not an option. One shot.


_Alfred had stared fiercely into his old enemy's eyes, ignoring the cold touch of a blade on his neck._

_ "Let me go, Commie bastard," he hissed. Natalya made to press the knife into his skin, but Ivan held up a hand to stop her._

_ "I'm not a Communist anymore, Alfred, you know this," Ivan purred. Alfred raised an eyebrow like he didn't believe the taller nation._

_ "Then what are you?" he asked, though to Ivan it didn't seem much like a question. "A democrat? A capitalist? I don't think so."_

_ That made Ivan falter as some long lost emotion stirred beneath his skin. But his smile never faded._

_ "I am, ah… I am not quite sure yet." His smile stretched even wider. "But we will find out soon enough, da?"_

_ Alfred kept quiet, the darkest of scowls fixed on his face. Natalya's hand, holding the blade, twitched, but she didn't dare draw blood._

_ Ivan brought his face close to Alfred's, cool fingers reaching up to brush a few strands of hair away from the blonde's face. He recoiled in disgust, and Ivan laughed._

_ "Mobilise your forces, Alfred," he sang, voice dripping with undisguised malice. "You wanted my uranium? Come and fight for it. We are going to war."_

Ivan had made many mistakes in this war. That was his first.

_Ivan gazd, unfeeling, into the eyes of the Baltics as strong arms pulled them into an embrace. Alfred hugged the nations like they were old friends, and it looked like they felt the same. A jab of pain stabbed at Ivan's heart, but he disregarded it._

_ "Don't worry, guys, the hero's here!" He grinned, held them close, almost protective. "We're gonna save you from this Commie bastard. You can thank us later."_

_ That was right, he still hadn't decided what he was._

_ The Baltics shook in Alfred's grip, and Ivan knew they expected him to come and take his 'friends' back, to at least make a move. But the smiling man just sat there and watched as the trio were led away, thinking all the while that he would get them back eventually._

Ivan had made many mistakes in this war. That was his second.

_There was a metallic click, and he turned, slow, his perpetual smile still lingering on a blood-spotted face. Even in such a hopeless situation, even with the bodies of his faithful soldiers torn to pieces and scattered all around, staining the snow, even then his smile never faltered._

_ Alfred glared at Ivan from behind his rifle, his eyes sparking with wild hatred. But that emotion wasn't mirrored in Ivan's eyes. He felt no anger towards the American. Despite the war that was ripping their countries apart as they stood there, he still considered Alfred to be his friend._

_ "This was has gone on long enough, Braginski," Alfred said coldly, his breathing still normal compared to the ragged breaths filling Ivan's lungs. _He_ hadn't been as affected by this war as Ivan had. After all, he still had plenty of allies to help him. "Are you going to surrender, or do we have to keep fighting you into nonexistence?"_

_ There was a long pause. Ivan's eyes flickered once, twice, and into darkness, his smile widening into something even more malicious._

_ "Oh, Alfred," he sighed, reaching out to his enemy's face, hardly feeling the pain as a bullet tore through his palm. "You, of all people, should know. I will never surrender. And most certainly not to you."_

Ivan had made many mistakes in this war. That was his third.

Pill after pill slid down a throat raw from shouting orders but nothing happened, cyanide burning away inside him but the promised unknowing bliss so far off. And as the armies advanced he lifted his gun with shaking hands and held it to his head, and there was a click, but there were no bullets, and he dropped the gun and sobbed out all his despair-

And then he was shot, a bright red rose blooming on his shoulder. But there was no pain, only anguish, and burning, such burning like he had never known, and Moscow was burning.

His mind was a jumble as a mess of Russian words tore from his throat, and then he was lifted, a strong hand gripping his throat, and he didn't even try gasp for breath.

"Your capital is burning," the harshest of voices hissed, feather-soft, into his ear. "Your land is taken. The great country of Russia, now a tiny dot on the map. Now will you surrender?"

But Ivan just smiled his horrible twisted smile and told the man that he would never surrender, most certainly not to him.

Ivan had made many mistakes in this war. But this; this was not one of them.

* * *

**Author's Note:** What's this? Connie's writing again? Astounding!

Third World War. Russia versus The Rest of the World. And Russia is _still_ the stubbornest bastard I've ever seen, god damn.

Read and Review, as per~


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